


just close your eyes (i'll keep you safe)

by tobeconvincedoflove



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, Hospitals, again unedited, also there is no version of him without tattoo sleeves, and unbetaed, basically everyone's there but most only in pasing, because enjolras, combeferre is wonderful, everyone is worried, injuries, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:57:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(based off something I saw on tumblr which basically said 'Enjolras is being abused by his boyfriend but Combeferre and Grantaire find out before it's too late')</p><p>It ends when he shatters Enjolras’s jawbone (and a few ribs).</p>
            </blockquote>





	just close your eyes (i'll keep you safe)

It ends when he shatters Enjolras’s jawbone (and a few ribs). Until then, it had been almost too easy, despite the angry gazes Enjolras knew Pat received from Combeferre and Grantaire. And, really, Pat should have been expecting that; his best friend and Grantaire (because it’s Grantaire and it’s Grantaire who always made him eat and sleep and would freak out when Enjolras got beat up at rallies) would notice. But they couldn’t stop it… they had no proof that Enjolras wasn’t actually too busy with school to come to meetings as frequently, or stop by as often. Because, honestly, no one’s first idea is that someone’s boyfriend is smacking them around. 

And Enjolras would have been _fine_ , if Combeferre hadn’t called him instead of texting him like he normally did. It had been a few hours since a well-placed punch had left Enjolras’s jaw shooting stabs of pain up his nerves whenever he moved it, but Enjolras was fine. He wasn’t going to worry Combeferre over nothing… it had been his fault, anyway. He always pissed off Patrick. 

So when Enjolras’s phone rings with Combeferre’s signature song (talk dirty to me – compliments of Courfeyrac), he hesitates before pressing the respond button, steeling himself against the pain sure to come. 

“Hey, there’s a meeting tonight. Only a few more before the next rally,” Combeferre immediately reminds him, and Enjolras swallows (oh fuck that hurt). 

“Okay. Thanks, Ferre,” he manages to get out, blinking back tears. Enjolras knows his voice sounds strange, he knows Combeferre could hear the slight tremor behind his voice, and prays to whatever’s up there that Combeferre doesn’t comment on it. “Can we text about the plans?” Talking was too fucking painful. 

“Are you okay?” The worry in Combeferre’s voice sets off the guilt building up in Enjolras’s chest.

“Yeah. Fine,” Enjolras says, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to get the words out. Oh, giving a speech was going to be fun tonight. 

“No you’re not. I’m coming over.” With those two sentences, Enjolras could feel everything crashing down around him. 

“No, no, I’m fine. If you want to talk we can meet-“

“Too fucking bad. I’m downstairs. So get your ass down here.” Combeferre’s voice leaves no room for argument, so Enjolras just flips the hood of his grey sweatshirt up and shuffles down the stairs of his apartment building. When he makes it outside, true to his word, Combeferre’s standing there, his arms crossed. To anyone else, the tattoo sleeves with the steely look would make the medical student seem terrifying, but Enjolras knew he was more worried than angry. And that made him feel worse. 

“Hey, ‘Ferre,” Enjolras greeted quietly, keeping his head down. Unfortunately, Combeferre was roughly 300% done with his best friend’s shit, and lightly pulled Enjolras’s hood down, noticing when the blonde visibly flinched. However, his main concern was the swollen, black and blue bruise the size of a baseball on Enjolras’s jaw. 

“How the fuck did this happen?” Enjolras wasn’t sure whether this was Combeferre’s ‘mama bear’ or ‘doctor’ mode, and was frankly too scared to think about it. He needed a lie. And fast.

“Tripped going down the stairs in the law building and smashed my face into the rail,” he invented quickly, hoping it was believable. 

“Un-fucking-likely,” a new voice added in, and Enjolras’s head snapped up to meet Grantaire’s eyes. Of course he was there, too. 

“How bad is the pain?” Combeferre asked, ignoring Grantaire, who was currently staring at Enjolras as though he was analyzing him. Enjolras was about to throw a quick ‘not that bad’ at his friend, but at that moment his jaw decided to send another jab of pain, and he inhaled sharply. Which hurt his ribs. A lot. 

“All right. No more talking. You can either nod or shake your head,” Grantaire invented, as Combeferre swiftly maneuvered Enjolras towards his car. 

“Did someone do this to you?” was the first thing Combeferre asked as they walked, eyes searching Enjolras. And, dammit, Enjolras wanted to tell him the truth, but there was a nagging fear at the back of his head. One that looked an awful lot like Patrick. So he just shook his head.

“Bull _shit_ ,” Grantaire mumbled, before looking at Combeferre. “All right I’m done playing this game; I know a right hook when I see one.” 

“So do I. But I need to know who I need to ask Bahorel to have a word with later,” Combeferre responded, now completely ignoring Enjolras, who quietly slipped into the back of his friend’s car, Grantaire right next to him. Suddenly, something dawned on Combeferre’s face, right as he put his keys into the ignition. “Grantaire, I need you to drive.” Enjolras’s best friend’s voice was shaking, and he fucking hated himself for putting Combeferre through this. And just like that, the two switched places. 

“I need you to answer these questions completely honestly, Enjolras, do you understand? Right now we’re going to a hospital, because, quite frankly, I think you broke your jaw, and don’t think I didn’t see you wince whenever you took a deep breath.” Silently, Enjolras nodded, and Combeferre grabbed his closest hand. 

“Is the reason you’ve been absent lately the same reason why you’re hurt?” And Combeferre kept his eyes locked on Enjolras’s the entire time, not giving Enjolras the chance to even think about lying. It was obvious that Combeferre already knew, and Enjolras wasn’t in the mood to hurt him more. So he nodded. Enjolras glanced at the front of the car, seeing Grantaire clenching his jaw almost as tightly as his hands gripped the wheel.

“Don’t worry about him. Stay focused on me, E.” Combeferre used Enjolras’s old nickname, and it sent a jolt of pain through Enjolras’s chest that had nothing to do with his ribs. “Has someone been hurting you?” A single tear escaped Enjolras’s eye, and when he went to take a breath he was blinded with the pain of moving his jaw. But Combeferre squeezed Enjolras’s hand, keeping his best friend grounded. And, again, Enjolras nodded. 

“Last question,” Combeferre said as Grantaire pulled into the hospital parking lot. “And you need to be honest. Was this Patrick?” When Enjolras nodded, Combeferre just wrapped him in a hug. Grantaire shakily took the keys out of the ignition, getting out. Enjolras didn’t want to get out; he was fine, he’d dealt with this before, and it wasn’t this bad this often. Patrick just got angry, which was something Enjolras could never fault him on, because lord knew Enjolras got angry, too. Enjolras yelled, Patrick hit. It was fine. 

“Come on, E. We’ve got to get that jaw looked at,” Combeferre mumbled into Enjolras’s hair, carefully unbuckling his seatbelt. When Enjolras finally slid out of the car, Grantaire squished him in a hug. Enjolras gasped at the pain, but he didn’t care. He clung to the other man, because he realized he hadn’t had this kind of positive touch in a long fucking time. And Enjolras was terrified. If Patrick knew…

“We’re going to have a long fucking talk later, after Bahoral, Bousset and I beat the shit out of that rat bastard,” Grantaire whispered, carefully maneuvering Enjolras so that he could help the blond inside of the ER, and Enjolras was grateful for the help. But he couldn’t meet the artist’s grey eyes, or Combeferre’s. The guilt and the embarrassment and the fear kept his gaze planted firmly down.

*****

After Combeferre had a whispered conversation with the nurse at the front desk, Enjolras was immediately whisked away by a nurse in pale pink scrubs. She wouldn’t let Grantaire and Combeferre go with, because she wasted no time in examining Enjolras’s jaw.

“Alright, Enjolras, I’m going to ask you some questions before we x-ray your jaw and chest, but it’s going to be the same rules as you had before. Just nod or shake your head, okay?” She asked all of this while swiftly removing Enjolras’s shirt, examining the bruises on his chest. Her voice was quiet and calm, and she had hair as dark as Eponine’s, but Enjolras didn’t trust her. 

“Combeferre,” Enjolras managed to say, the pain in his jaw now unbearable even when he wasn’t talking. Or breathing. 

“I’ve already talked to him, but he can’t be back here until we know what’s wrong with you, okay?” The nurse’s eyes were bright and large and slightly tinted with worry, so Enjolras just decided to comply. He was too tired to lie to her, anyway. 

“Did your boyfriend hit you?” she asked immediately, not even bothering to lead him into it. Enjolras appreciated that, in a way, and he nodded. “Has he done it before today?” Again, Enjolras nodded. “That confirms what your friend said, and I’m going to have to call the police. They’ll speak to Combeferre first, because, if I’m right, your jaw is going to need surgery. It’s probably completely shattered. And infected. Do you want to press charges?” And it wasn’t Enjolras’s fear that made him nod—it was the knowledge that his friends, and their fear if he didn’t, that made him respond yes.

And that was that. The nurse (he learned her name was Musichetta) quickly called in the doctor, who decided that Enjolras apparently couldn’t walk to the x ray room, and Combeferre appeared just as a bracelet was snapped around his best friend’s wrist and he was pushed into a bed to be wheeled to the room. 

“Did you tell the others?” Enjolras ignored the stern look he got from everyone in the room, looking intently at Combeferre.

“Grantaire’s on his way to tell them. They’re all at the Musain right now. Now stop talking, E. It’ll only hurt worse.” At Combeferre’s words, he shut his mouth again, and allowed his friend to hold his hand reassuringly as the party of four moved to the x ray room. 

****

*

By the time the x rays were complete, and Enjolras admitted to a room and given an IV with some high quality pain killers, the rest of their friend were there. The nurse gave him a dry-erase marker and a small board to write on while the doctor decided what to do, and let his friends (though she mumbled about how if anyone found out she was screwed) into the room. Immediately, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’s other hand, and Enjolras noticed he had bruised knuckles.

“The nurse gave your statement to the police when they came, and apparently that was enough to get them to arrest Patrick. The bloke walked in just after Bahorel, Bousset, and I had got there, but he let us go without a fuss. Said the fucker deserved worse than a broken nose,” Grantaire said, and Combeferre nodded. 

_He’s going to post bail_ , was the only thing Enjolras wrote, as Eponine slipped into the room. Immediately, the guilt built up further in his chest; she’d been in a similar situation, and it was Enjolras who’d convinced her to get away. He was a fucking hypocrite. But as everyone read what their leader wrote, there was uproar. Enjolras couldn’t pick out much, yet it was obvious that they weren’t letting Patrick near Enjolras again. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Eponine asked after it quieted down, her eyes narrowing a bit as their gaze landed on his jaw. “This obviously isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

 _I could handle it. And I get angry, too._

“Well, you obviously handled it really fucking good, E,” Courfeyrac responded angrily as he read over Enjolras’s shoulder. “And do _you_ beat the shit out of your boyfriend when you’re angry?” Enjolras shook his head ‘no’. “Then it’s not even a comparison.” 

It was obvious most of the others had something to say, but then the doctor returned to the room, his eyes widening at the amount of people in the room. He didn’t comment, though, as he took in the scene: Combeferre and Grantaire still held onto his hands tightly, Cosette had one hand threaded in Enjolras’s hair, the other in Marius’s hand, and the rest were standing or sitting around, eyes blazing with worry and anger. 

“Do you feel comfortable with me talking about your injuries in front of your friends?” the doctor asked, and Enjolras nodded immediately. He trusted the nine people in the room more than anyone else. They had all came, even when they were pissed and worried and probably five-hundred other things. “All right. Well, Musichetta was right. Your jaw is broken in five places, and is already infected, which requires surgery. Also, the scan of your chest revealed that three of your ribs are broken, five others cracked. We’ll have to operate on the broken ones as well. Musichetta’s going to prep you for surgery now.” 

Combeferre’s hand gripped Enjolras’s tighter, and Enjolras squeezed back, trying to blink tears from his eyes. However, the tension caused another shot of pain to go up Enjolras’s jaw, and he let out a strangled noise from the pain. The motion caused another wave of unbearable agony, but Combeferre just pulled him into a hug, one hand wrapped around his back firmly (but careful to avoid Enjolras’s injuries), the other holding Enjolras’s head into his chest. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Combeferre murmured, as Enjolras repeated the cycle of crying in fear and crying in pain over and over. Most of the amis slipped out to go to the waiting room, wanting to give Enjolras privacy and to avoid aggravating the nurses, but Grantaire stayed, and rubbed Enjolras’s back gently. Thankfully, Musichetta entered a few seconds later, and injected something into Enjolras’s drip line which caused him to relax, and a few minutes later his hair was in a net and he was being wheeled to surgery. 

“We’ll be here when you wake up, E,” Grantaire had whispered right before Enjolras left, placing a light kiss on the man’s forehead. 

****

*

The first thing Enjolras was aware of was that there was a tube down his throat. Immediately after, he started to gag, and tried to pull it out, but a familiar set of hands stopped him.

“You need to leave that in, E,” a voice said, and somewhere through the haze Enjolras knew it was Combeferre. “There were some complications with your ribs, and you need it to breathe right so they heal.” Slowly, Enjolras managed to stop gagging around the tube, though it was still uncomfortable. 

“How are you feeling?” Grantaire asked quietly, stepping into Enjolras’s line of vision. “Here’s the marker and pad back; you’re not going to be able to talk for a while, even after they take out the tube.” 

_Okay. Jaw doesn’t hurt._ Enjolras scrawled, struggling to write laying down. 

“That’s because of the magic of morphine. Jesus Christ your writing is terrible,” Grantaire chuckled, running his hand through his hair. 

_When can I go home?_ Enjolras wrote, looking at Combeferre. 

“I don’t know, E. It was a pretty serious surgery, and you’re not going to be able to eat anything solid for a while, anyway,” his best friend explained as the doctor from before walked into the room. 

“Glad to see you’re awake, Enjolras,” the man greeted kindly, shutting the door behind him. “I see you’ve calmed down with the ventilator, which is good—we should be able to take it out in a few hours, but your lung collapsed during surgery and we need it to regain its strength so that your ribs heal and don’t become infected. How’s the pain?”

 _Fine_ , Enjolras wrote, and showed it to the doctor. _It’s fuzzy, though_ , Enjolras wrote, and the doctor chuckled a little.

“You’re on some heavy painkillers, and the anesthesia hasn’t worn off yet. It’s to be expected. I’ll be back to check on you later,” the doctor said, and Combeferre nodded while the man left the room.

“Seriously, E, how are you?” Combeferre asked, running his fingers through his friend’s hair. Enjolras’s eyes stayed transfixed on the moths interwoven into his friend’s tattoos, and it took a minute before he was able to focus enough to write a response. 

_Where’s Patrick?_

“In prison; he declined a trial after the medical evidence was presented. He’s not going to come near you again,” Grantaire explained, intertwining his fingers with Enjolras’s as he watched the fear disappear from his face. 

_Are you mad at me?_

“No. Why would you think that?” Grantaire asked, his voice soft and full of worry.

_You said ‘long talk later’._

“That’s not what I meant. We’re still having that talk—you and me and Combeferre and Courfeyrac, probably—but not when you’re drugged up,” Grantaire explained, chuckling a little at the end. “Right now you just need to focus on getting better.”

 _Okay. I’m tired._

“I can tell; I could hardly read that word,” Combeferre responded quietly, watching as Enjolras struggled a little more with letting the ventilator control his breathing. “Go back to sleep. It’ll be okay.” 

Irrationally, Enjolras felt terror build in the pit of his stomach. (What if Patrick came back? What if Grantaire really was angry? What was going to happen? Was Combeferre mad?)

 _I’m scared_ , he wrote, but tried to erase it before Combeferre or Grantaire could see. Unfortunately, his reflexes weren’t that great, and they did.

“Don’t be. We’re right here, and the rest of Les Amis are just in the waiting room. Someone’s going to be here the entire time while you’re sleeping, and when you wake up.” Combeferre’s voice was soft and gentle, but Enjolras tugged on his hand. He couldn’t sleep alone; he didn’t know why, but the idea was just too scary. 

“I don’t know if I can fit in the bed, E, with the machines,” he tried to say, but Enjolras just tugged on his hand again, and Combeferre sighed and crawled up next to Enjolras, wrapping his arms around his friend. That was when the panic receded, and with a squeeze from Grantaire’s hand, Enjolras let himself sleep.


End file.
